Every Ship Is a Romantic Object

except that we sail in. The only thing grief has taught meis how to swallow it. None of us could see the intelligencefor the artifice. I remember Manhattan's vertebrae, every boneof spine. How the aerial tram slithered like a silk skirt downtwo thighs the moment the bomb dropped / the computerswoke. The right image of a woman's body can justify anything.When I left my child under the Queensboro, I didn't thinkI shouldn't do this. All I thought: It's finally happening.Then: Run.